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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846291">Wicked</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackBerryDonut/pseuds/BlackBerryDonut'>BlackBerryDonut</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wicked [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gorillaz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1980s Gang warfare, 1980s Satanic Panic, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Rape, Band Fic, Catholicism, Domestic Violence, Drug Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gang Violence, Gen, My First Work in This Fandom, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape, Pre-Gorillaz AU, Religious Imagery, Ritual Sex, Rituals, Satanism, Smoking, Witchcraft, Young Murdoc Niccals</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:14:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,301</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackBerryDonut/pseuds/BlackBerryDonut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>During Gorillaz's first American tour, Murdoc would cross paths with his long lost frontwoman and lover, Lenora "Lee" Wardwell, who disappeared from the UK 12 years ago without a trace. With Murdoc conflicted about her reappearance and with the rise of Gorillaz, it's a toss-up what Lee's return could mean for Murdoc's future along with the future of Gorillaz.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Murdoc Niccals/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wicked [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875475</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wicked</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a story that has been rattling in my brain for a year and a half that wanted to get written. Updates is gonna be bi-monthly as I'm in school and don't want it interfering with my schoolwork. Fair warning that it's gonna be flashback heavy and takes place in Phase 1 with it progressing to the next phases with much less flashbacks.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Birmingham, Harborne - August 1990</p><p> </p><p>He was staring at the guitar he absentmindedly played with as his beat up old radio was trying to play whatever heavy metal ballad was playing at the time. The guitar was a Dean ’88 electric guitar that had an electric blue/purple finish but it had white marijuana and Wiccan symbols drawn on it. As he did this, he was in his cellar sitting on the floor in the dark not caring about anything that went on in the outside world or the people in it; the only thing that mattered to him by this point was the music. He wasn’t very skilled with the guitar but even the plucks and twings of the strings brought him more solace than what awaited his new life when he leaves this dead house and the bittersweet memories that came with it.</p><p> </p><p>There was a sound of a car stopping at a rather narrow but luxurious house. The house’s view was blocked by an overgrown tree with old and broken fencing with litter scattered around the front yard. Parked right by the car was a Winnebago, the largest available and several years old, a sign that the owner of the house was in. Two people had gotten out of the car, both were young and attending university in the area. Despite the state of the landscape, both friends had proceeded to the front door and then knocked on the door.</p><p> </p><p>“ ‘ello? We’ve come to tour the house!” One of the boys said, a skinny redhead with a closely trimmed beard.</p><p> </p><p>Despite waiting, no one had come to the door and then the brunette, short and stocky with muscle, had jingled the door and it turned out it was unlocked the whole time so the brunette had pushed the door in hard.</p><p> </p><p>“Wha’ are ya doin’, George?! Don’t make it look like we’re tryin’ ta break in now!”</p><p> </p><p>“Quit yer fussin’, Tommy. It’s been 15 minutes now, I’m not gonna drive away from this deal cause the man won’t come ta the door.” Despite Tommy’s grumbling, both of them had stepped into the home. Needless to say, they didn’t expect the house to be trashed on the day they were suppose to take a tour and what they didn’t expect was mutilated cadavers of some local wildlife in the well-to-do neighborhood.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuckin’ Christ! The hell went on in here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oi! We’ve come to have a look around!”</p><p> </p><p>“Should we be stayin’ here, George? This shite’s full a rubbish and I even see cut up animals! I’m gettin’ a bad feelin’.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll take a look around, find the landlord and decide then.”</p><p> </p><p>They began the tour themselves since they were already in the house. They explored the area from the ground level to the second level but the only thing they haven’t checked was the cellar and the door was wide open and pitch black inside. The only sound coming from the house was the crackling noise of the radio barely playing the song, “Alone Again” by Dokken and it sounded like it was coming from the cellar.</p><p> </p><p>As the boys were about to make their way, they heard footsteps coming up from the cellar and then a figure materialized into a scruffy, shirtless young man with a shaggy mullet, overgrown bangs almost covering his bizarre eyes, ripped-up, whitewashed jeans and brown leather buckled boots. He was holding a guitar in his right hand however, the one thing that the boys noticed the most was a golden inverted cross pendent attached to the chain that donned his neck as he gave a malicious, sharp-toothed grin and announced,</p><p> </p><p>“Hi. I’m Murdoc Niccals, the owner. You must be the uni chaps interested in renting this place.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes…we spoke on the phone yesterday. Me and my mate are medical students looking for a reasonable place to stay close to the hospital. I have another friend that’s going to be staying with us but she couldn’t make it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right. Right. So lads, rent plus utilities is 90 pounds a week or 360 pounds a month and you’re responsible for the general upkeep while the numbers to the repair people for like electrical, water, plumbing, carpentry, and so on’s tagged on the fridge cause I’m not doin’ that shit, yeah? I’m gonna be on the road.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait…Where should we make the payments toward if you’re goin’ to be travelin’?”</p><p> </p><p>“You make the payments to my PO Box with the address provided on the fridge.” Murdoc then reaches into his pockets to toss one of the boys the spare keys to the house.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going give you some grace and let you pay me 30 days from now but if I don’t see my money past that time, you’re gonna be hearing from me, lads. The house is yours to stay in, by the by, the radio in the cellar is yours.”</p><p> </p><p>And with that, he left the college boys standing in the hallway as he strolled out of the house, guitar in hand, and made his way towards the Winnebago. As he got in and started her up, it took him everything not to look at the house that was supposed to kick off his dreams but ended up killing all but one. He left the Midlands that day, never looking back. For him, it was onward to London to start over…alone.</p><p> </p><p>____________</p><p> </p><p>Kong Studios, Essex -  February 2002</p><p> </p><p>It took him 12 years but he had finally done it. He made his claim to fame under his new band, Gorillaz. He’d woken up in a mess surrounded by leftovers, autographs, women’s underwear, and empty bottles of alcohol and filled ashtrays of used cigs. After finding a bottle that had some whiskey left, he brought it to the kitchen to brew himself some Irish coffee. It would be the day that he would leave for America and he had to be in tip top rock star shape to blow those Yanks out of their minds with his music and maybe…manage to finally find her.</p><p> </p><p>He suddenly stopped what he was doing at the thought of the mysterious American gypsy that suddenly popped into his life and then ghosted on him during his youth…it wouldn’t have shook him so hard if he hadn’t gone stupid and fell madly in love with her.</p><p> </p><p>He remembered looking all over nearly the whole of England for her…looking multiple times with no sign of her for weeks until he caved and got the authorities involved. Despite their limited help, he had searched high and low for a whole year but even with the coppers, neither he nor anyone could track her down and she ended up staying on missing persons.</p><p> </p><p>With no trace found…his mind immediately went to the worst of scenarios: Either some psychopath got his hands on her and….or she abandoned him.</p><p> </p><p>Either scenario had managed to break him.</p><p> </p><p>He remembers going back on the speed heavily shortly after and took his drinking to another level. Stuck in confusion over whether she was dead or alive but still blaming himself for her disappearance. It still lead to him wondering if she’s still in the UK, in Europe, in Asia, or did she go back home after all?</p><p> </p><p>Far too many questions when it came to that woman.</p><p> </p><p>He had taken every drug known to him, every liquor and partook in numerous sexual debaucheries over the years with men and women alike but all it did was distract him from noticing the large void she left in him or a void he didn’t know existed. A void he had tried to fill with his schemes and opportunities to crack stardom.</p><p> </p><p>That woman made him feel more man than freak, made him feel like he was her world and who nurtured and loved him like no one had done….only to disappear on him with no notice or word. As the years went on, it kept leading to the difficult question of if she ever really loved him or if she was ever real and just a hyper-real drug hallucination played by a mind starved for any kind of love and affection. </p><p> </p><p>12 years of dealing with the aftermath of the disappearance of a long lost love would do that to a man.</p><p> </p><p>But he didn’t plan this tour to chase ghosts, he’s trying to make a real mark on the world.</p><p> </p><p>Besides…even if she’s still alive and well, chances are that someone as beautiful and electric as that woman was would have been long married with kids by now or maybe she’s forgotten about him after all this time after years of possible globetrotting and having anyone fall at their feet for her. She was such a free spirited siren, his siren….</p><p> </p><p>He forced himself to down what was left of the whiskey and then just threw the bottle at the nearest wall as it shattered loudly to varying shards of glass.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck that...” he began to say to himself, “I’m not going back in that sodding hole again, not after what’s at stake.”</p><p> </p><p>He downed the black coffee to distract himself to get back to the present and shove the past back where it belonged. “Put that bird back in the hole, Mudsy…after this tour…they’ll be flocks of ‘em beggin’ for a piece o’ you.”</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t have her matter to him after all this time, not after what happened and what it took to finally move on. He doesn’t wanna know what happened to her after all these years…either way, it’s gonna kill him and he’ll be damned if he’s gonna wait for or hunt down for answers this time. For his own sanity, Lenora Wardwell never existed and was just a drug-addled dream of a girl that he would want in his youth but couldn’t have. He was no longer that naive, sentimental rogue that dreamed of romance…he accepted the cards he was dealt with and no longer wanted anything to do with it. Music was his one true love now and sex was his top pleasure in life. Nothing on Earth was gonna change that. He’s gonna go on that tour, take his place as being part of the world’s biggest band, claim that fuckin’ crown and drown in every hedonistic pleasure that money could buy as he deserved every last one of them.</p><p> </p><p>“Wot bird, Muds?”</p><p> </p><p>Murdoc was taken aback by the voice and forgotten where he was just now. He was in the kitchen at the ungodly hour of 6am and for some odd reason, 2D was awake. He shook off his previous train of thought to get back to reality, “Mind yer own, face-ache. Wot the hell are you up for anyway?”</p><p> </p><p>“Couldn’t find me sleepin’ pills last night. I never got any sleep…I was just starin’ at the wall or walkin’ the hallways.”</p><p> </p><p>Murdoc gave an annoyed grunt as he took out his pack of smokes. As he placed a fag in his mouth and gave himself a light with an old beat-up lighter he commented,</p><p> </p><p>“You shoulda walked into a wall to save yerself the trouble.”</p><p> </p><p>“But that would hurt.”</p><p> </p><p>“So’s me grabbin’ ya by that blue bird’s nest o’ yours and slammin’ your head right in. Either way, it would have been lights out.”</p><p> </p><p>2D choose at this point to ignore Murdoc’s brutal way of so-called help as he reasoned with himself that the Satanist was probably anxious and paranoid about their upcoming tour in America as it was unusual to see the bassist awake at this hour as he was always a late riser. He couldn’t also say anything about it as he was guilty of being the same way. However, the only thing that Murdoc could also be counted on besides his musical contribution was supplying him with his prescriptions of various meds, including his staple pain-killers for headaches that have plagued him since childhood and gotten worse after the fated car accident that landed him in this position. Despite 2D being better and coherent, Murdoc was still legally his guardian that made all the decisions on medical, financial and asset matters.</p><p> </p><p>“Could I borrow your sleepin’ pills? I can’t find mine and our flight’s at noon.”</p><p> </p><p>Murdoc gave an annoyed sigh, “Fine, dullard. But ye’ only get what’s prescribed. I’m not gonna get arrested in the fuckin’ states if you decide to overdose on my shit plus the other slew a’ meds flowin’ inside that skinny carcass o’ yours.”</p><p> </p><p>They both walked to the Winnebago where Murdoc had gotten his own pills and gave 2D half of his pill which made him whine out,</p><p> </p><p>“It’s only half!”</p><p> </p><p>“Our flight is in six hours with only five to spare, dullard! I’m not gonna be draggin’ your ass to the airport because you can’t wake up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ok…f’anks, Muds.” 2D had walked away leaving Murdoc alone in the Winnebago.</p><p> </p><p>Murdoc didn’t see the need to sleep as his thoughts kept running a mile a minute for the anticipation of a tour that was gonna make Gorillaz world famous. It would be a brand new beginning for him. He was gonna finally be rewarded for his hard work, sacrifices and perseverance and to complete the deal he made with Satan all those years ago. Who’d thought that crashing a nicked Vauxhall Astra into the skull of that blue-haired sod would lead him to this point? The kid was a huge pain in his arse but his looks, musical talent and angelic voice was something he’d be a fool to walk away from. He’d just never thought he get this far without her but she’s gone…has been for over a decade and he's moved on…hasn’t he?</p>
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